


Vulnerability

by koalawhisperer



Series: Jimlock Fluff [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hugs are good for everyone, M/M, The world needs more Jimlock fluff, Vulnerable Jim, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2436326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalawhisperer/pseuds/koalawhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every now and then, Jim had bad days. Dreadfully ordinary, but they were unfortunately out of his control. This was one such day. His mood was in the depths, black, hopeless. And he felt /alone/. That was a normal feeling for Jim, alleviated some when Sherlock was around, but today, it was exacerbated, making the normally grandiose criminal a shadow of himself. Not even Sherlock could shake the feeling that Jim was going to die alone.</p><p>It was these times that Jim needed affection more than ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vulnerability

**Author's Note:**

> So I have a lovely Jimlock anon on Tumblr who sends me these fantastic Jimlock/Sheriarty scenarios. This one inspired this little one-shot because I cannot resist a good bit of Jimlock fluff.

Every now and then, Jim had bad days. Dreadfully ordinary, but they were unfortunately out of his control. This was one such day. His mood was in the depths, black, hopeless. And he felt _alone_. That was a normal feeling for Jim, alleviated some when Sherlock was around, but today, it was exacerbated, making the normally grandiose criminal a shadow of himself. Not even Sherlock could shake the feeling that Jim was going to die alone.

It was these times that Jim needed affection more than ever. The man normally stayed away from it unless he was in a post-orgasmic state or feeling a rare rush of sentiment for his detective, one that was too powerful to suppress. Affection was too ordinary, too boring, too sentimental. But today, today was one of the needier days. His mood was like the sky outside, grey and gloomy, stormy and dark. Jim wasn’t proud of it or how needy he felt, but that wasn’t going to change anything. So, he drug himself out of bed and padded through his flat in search of Sherlock, hair a mess and body engulfed in too-big pyjamas. It was on these days that Jim didn't pay attention to how he looked, opting for pyjamas instead of his Westwood, messy hair instead of neatly gelled and styled. He just didn't care enough to put forth the effort.

"Sherlock?" Jim called, his voice so much quieter, much more timid than it was on a normal day. He wrapped his arms around himself as he searched his home, a self-comforting gesture. His face was anything but happy, eyes cast downward instead of facing forward in confidence. He was certain that his heart — yes, he had one — had grown to twice its normal weight, a stone in his chest instead of an organ made of muscle, blood, and everything else a normal human heart had.

Sherlock looked up from his book as he heard Jim’s soft voice, one eyebrow raised in curiosity as the smaller man padded into the living room. He immediately went into deductions, as he was so prone to do. Hunched posture, arms wrapped around his body, downturned mouth. Eyes cast downward, an almost pained expression on his face. Jim was upset. Sherlock felt a pulling sensation in his heart, one he would later label as the proverbial tugging of the heartstrings, as he took in Jim’s expression and smaller appearance. He’d admitted to himself that he cared for the man — though not how _much_ he cared — so any sort of pain upset him.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked as he gazed at Jim, putting his book aside. He’d learned from John that people who were upset generally disliked when they didn’t have his full attention in this sort of moment. Jim looked so _small_ , so unlike his larger-than-life persona. To Sherlock, he almost resembled a small child who'd woken from a nightmare and had come pleading to his parent to make it all better, not a consulting criminal who struck fear into people with just a mention of his name. This was Jim at his most vulnerable, the Jim that only Sherlock got to witness.

Jim suddenly became shy as Sherlock spoke to him. He knew what he wanted and needed, but part of him resisted. Jim Moriarty, the most dangerous man in London, did not ask for _hugs_. But that was what he needed, that closeness, that _care_ , that feeling that he wasn’t alone. That he had Sherlock. He worried at the hem of his shirt as he became rather interested in a painting on the wall and the tension between them grew rather thick.

"You can tell me," Sherlock said, urging gently but not pushing. He couldn’t push Jim when he was in this mood, not if he didn’t want the man to shut down on him. He'd learned that the hard way; Jim didn't react kindly to being pushed past his limits, much as Sherlock didn't. After all, Jim was Sherlock and Sherlock was Jim. Two sides of the same coin. Made for each other.

After what seemed like an eternity, seconds seeming like minutes, Jim finally spoke. His tone was shy, quiet as he peeked up at Sherlock with big brown eyes. “I…could I have a hug?” he asked, nearly begging with his eyes since he didn’t trust himself to speak otherwise.

Sherlock froze for a few seconds when Jim spoke, the tugging sensation returning to his chest. Normally, Sherlock would’ve been aloof, distant, perhaps even _mocking_. Hugs were so sentimental, so _stupid_. What on earth was comforting about two human bodies, clothed, pressing against each other in every possible way? But not this time. Jim was so small, so quiet, so shy that Sherlock couldn’t help but give the Irishman what he wanted. Without another word, Sherlock slowly got up and went over to Jim, wrapping the man in the tightest hug he could manage without hurting him. “It’s okay,” Sherlock whispered after a few moments. He never, ever wanted to let go. Because, God, as strange as they were, hugs felt good. Sherlock felt whole. Complete. Like everything was right.

Jim immediately felt the relief as soon as he was in Sherlock’s arms. This was what he needed. Closeness. Something real and solid wrapped around him, confirming that he wasn’t alone. He gave a soft sigh and rested his head atop Sherlock’s shoulder, just breathing in the scent of his detective. His Sherlock. The only one in the world that managed to make Jim feel like he wasn’t alone, which was certainly saying a lot. And in that moment, Jim knew that Sherlock was right, as always. It really was okay.


End file.
